


Autumn Pies

by Aithilin



Series: Seasonal Prompts [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 12:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Regis hasn't had a vacation in years. Cape Caem was a good place to start.





	Autumn Pies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glaivenoct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaivenoct/gifts).

It had been decades since he left the fortified walls of the Citadel. Longer still since he had watched the sun flicker and fade beyond the blazing glory of the autumn foliage covering the delicate rise and fall of the hilly Cleigne countryside. The sea rolled on in golden waves, even as the sun dipped low enough to cast the long shadows of the forest across the wild grass of the Caem hillside. If he strained his eyes from the hilltop base of the the grand lighthouse that hid so many secrets buried deep beneath the familiar summer home, Regis knew that the growing glow nearby— where the curve of the roads disappeared into the forest and high hills— was from the nearby outpost. A growing town rising in the night from a fishing village; a challenger to Galdin’s quiet cove of soft sands and sun-warmed grasses. 

“You coming?” Noctis moved around the length of the house with an ease Regis hadn’t seen in his son for years. A pie, still steaming from the oven was in his hands; his touch protected by a folded dishtowel. Though he wasted no time in balancing the confection on a windowsill, to catch the soft sea breeze coming on across the calm ocean waters. 

Regis smiled more at the sight of his son tending to domestic chores than to the promise of the treats currently coming from the oven. “Of course.”

Pumpkin spice filled the old home, the heat of nutmeg and cardamom drifting across the old wood and stale scent of a house that needed to see more use. The floorboards creaked with each step, with each strong gust from across the waters. The air had been stagnant when they arrived, the musty scent of the old house chased away with a touch of ingenuity from Cor as he fought with the ancient furnace to bring them some warmth against the bone chill of the Cape that could linger. Regis had listened with no small amusement as his friend swore at the furnace, the boiler, the old pipes he hadn’t thought to fix in the few adventures that had taken him to the Cape, and to the base beneath. 

Noctis had arrived after him, a notebook of instructions for the week’s worth of food and treats that had been entrusted to him by Ignis. The assurances that his adviser would be by during their little vacation to ensure that they hadn’t been poisoned by food reheated to slightly below the stated temperature. Gladio promising to stay out of the way— with Clarus, which meant that Regis could expect them underfoot at the slightest noise— as he greeted his King with a bow and a confident grin. 

It had taken hours to shoo them all away. 

And now Regis smiled as he watched his son carefully examine the instructions set out for re-heating a pumpkin pie. 

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“If not, Iggy’s going to kill me.”

“And rightly so,” Regis examined the treat, trying to ignore the rattle of the can of whipped cream as Noctis clearly disobeyed the clear instructions of preparing a proper topping as decreed by Ignis’ standard for royal fare. “Though it would take some skill to ruin a pumpkin pie that’s already been made.”

“I’m sure I can manage. If Specs asks, I did everything perfectly.”

The dark armour of the hunters could be seen lingering along the cliffs, mugs of steaming drinks in hand— a replacement to the small army of Crownsguard that Regis had forbade from coming out to the family home. At least to mill about the surface of the home, where the illusion of this brief freedom could be shattered by the appearance of the uniform. Hunters, working under Cor’s command, would not draw attention to the run down little home, with it’s persnickety furnace and weather worn shingles. Regis could, for a time, forget that there was a small army waiting for a sign of trouble wandering about the nearest outpost, or beneath him in the base that still slept beneath the lighthouse— barracks filled with the not-so-quiet ranks of a personal guard ready to act on Clarus’ order. On Gladio’s order. 

But for the moment— watching Noctis set out slices of pie for them while trying to keep an eye on the hot chocolate he had already toasted marshmallows for over the gas flames of the stove— it was nice to pretend that he wasn’t the King and his son wasn’t his royal heir. 

“I wouldn’t dream of telling him otherwise.”


End file.
